Mother's Day 2015

I wore a bead necklace yesterday that Nolan strung for me and it reminded me that I had not done my Mother's Day post. He made the necklace while my friend Naomi was at our house helping her granddaughter Kingsley make a one for her mom for Mother's Day. I would not suggest he make a living as a jewelry designer but when your 16-year old takes ten minutes and strings some beads for you, that says "love" to a mom.





The day before Mother's Day, Jubal had called Jim from Hawaii and asked him to get flowers for me from him. I knew because Jubal texted ME to remind JIM not to forget them. I think Jubal has made it his mission to remind Jim of all the"special" calendar days while he's away from home. Along with the flowers, I received a sweet text from my firstborn which woke me up at 5am. ".....you have a 95% approval rating in the mother's book..." was part of his sentiment. I'll take that percentage.





My gifts were rounded out by floral artwork from Atira......





And from Tell......





It's good to be a mom.

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Trail Half

The hikers accomplished 6 miles south to High Point Shelter while Greg and I moved vehicles to their southern parking spots for the week and then hiked about a mile and a half north to High Point Shelter. This was my first time involved in the vehicle juggling at the beginning of the hike for the very good reason that it normally means a fast and far hike to catch up with the rest of the pack. The shortness of this trek allowed me to participate even if I was the slowest partner Greg has ever had. Approaching a fallen tree across the trail made me miss my fellow Turtle hiker, Liz. She would have understood my dilemma as I straddled a tree the same height as my leg in an attempt to navigate the trail.

A vista platform afforded a sweeping view of the area surrounding High Point Monument and was a beginning to the downhill that ended at High Point Shelter.








It was a tougher and more emotional day for some than for others but all teens accomplished the goal. According to Peg, Atira with her top heavy pack, only fell over three times and only one of those was near a cliff. I call it a satisfactory day.

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Travel Half

4:30 AM we began the trek to Jersey. Some, like Riley, kept their feet comfy and free of hiking boots as long as possible.




As we drove further south the grass was greener, trees were budding and we heard the sound of splatting insects. As Mike Gabriele said, "Nothing says spring like bug guts on the windshield." (Photo courtesy of his grandson Josh who hijacked my phone)






Last call for flushing toilets and comfortable seating was lunch at Cracker Barrel in Fishkill, NY.






Next stop, the trail...



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Pack Weigh In

Weighing in the packs for the 2015 April Vacation AT Hike commencing at 4 AM tomorrow:

Rachelle with tent parts and full water: 36.9 lbs. Higher than I would like, but Don knows I've got to have that phone recharge on the trail. And those chocolate covered espresso beans aren't light either.






Atira with full water but no tent part yet, on her first hike: 26.2 lbs. Wait for the verdict on whether there will ever be a second hike for her.

Nolan didn't bother to weigh his pack because he's a man. It is what it is. We simply pick it up and get it to the destination.




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Because it's Maine

It was snowing on my drive home tonight. Why is this, when according to all my criteria, Spring has arrived in Maine? Kids are jumping on the trampoline. (It required some hands on snow removal for that to happen, but so what?)





The Spring Equinox is yesterday on the calendar. The temperature has briefly hit 50 degrees. I have smelled a skunk. I have run the mud gauntlet on our road.





In other states this would add up to Spring. So, why was it snowing on my drive home tonight? It's a simple reason:
This is Maine. The way LIFE should be.....not necessarily the weather.


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Imprinting On Film

I walked into the house this afternoon just as Westley was declaring to Buttercup in the Fire Swamp that he did not believe The Rodents Of Unusual Size exist. While Tell and Atira continued to watchThe Princess Bride, I was unable to stem the flow of the scene's dialogue as it rolled off my tongue almost word for word. I almost instantly missed Beth Boyden sitting beside me as we recited the characters' lines in unison. Our high school years clearly involved far too much time watching this film. Between the two us we could recite nearly every scene. It was time well wasted.

Unable to stop blurting out the script, I had to remove myself from the living room to allow the kids to watch their movie in peace.

After I left I began thinking how some movies are singularly imprinted with certain people or events in our life.

The Man From Snowy River: in my childhood home, the moment I decided I was going to go to Australia someday

Pee-Wee's Big Adventure:
many New Year's Eves in Eastport

Star Wars: housesitting for the Redlons and finally being able to watch it a decade after its release

Dances With Wolves: only slightly shocked with Mishe as EDC commented on the quality of Kevin Costner's bare backside

The Scarlet Pimpernel: thanks to Amy Shields, a perfect Saturday afternoon spent with my WOL Aussie mob in Wiseman's Ferry. The love of the movie lingers on

Aladdin: in Australia laughing with Jim and our generous friend, Cindy Kruss, whom we will not see again this side of heaven

The Hobbit: getting through 2/3 of the 3-D flick with Jim, Deb and Don before realizing that my glasses were missing a lens. That last third was SO much better!

So many movies, in so many situations with so many people...What causes certain memories to be cemented and others forgotten? Memory is an interesting thing. I'm thankful for it.







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A Normal Person Would Say...

It's been a long time away and tough to get back into the habit of posting to my blog so I'll start with a quick insight into the lovable oddness of Nolan. This morning, while sitting at the dining table, Jim and I heard Nolan talking to, presumably, himself in the living room. Not surprising. Jim is always muttering to himself and genes have a tendency to be passed along to the next generation. When Nolan entered the room, I asked my rhetorical "Who were you talking to?" question, expecting the normal response of "myself". Instead I was told, "My bandaid." If you know Nolan, you're chuckling. I love that weird kid.


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